Don't Go
by Matilda384
Summary: Just a story about Roger and his big brother, hopefully explaining why he acted the way he did only the island. Takes place pre-island, back in England. Please enjoy.


**Just a story about Roger and his big brother, hopefully explaining why he did the things he did on the island. Full analysis at the bottom of the page. :)**

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Roger turned over in bed, snuggling closer to the warmth that lay sleeping beside him. He was just beginning to wake. Roger rubbed his eyes with his little hands and felt a bigger, yet thin, arm wrap around him. He loved mornings like these-everything so quiet and still; so lovely. Nothing could hurt him. It was just him and his big brother.

Roger looked up with sleepy eyes, tilting his head upwards on the pillow. His older brother looked down, smiling gently. "Morning, Roge." he mouthed. Roger put an arm around his brother. "Morning, William." he whispered. The two knew better than to make a lot of noise so early in the morning-their father would be angry if he was awakened too early. The two huddled together, William gently stroking Roger's hair. He kissed the top of his brother's head. "A kiss for the morning," he said as always, making Roger grin.

William was three years older than Roger; just turned fifteen that spring. The two loved each other more than anything else. They had an understanding for one another, and an alliance against their father. The boys' mother had died long ago. William told Roger that that was the reason why their father began drinking. They always received his anger towards the world through beatings and starvation and neglect. Roger more so than William. But Roger never minded it that way-he would rather have had it be him than his older brother, even though William protested.

William pulled Roger into a hug. "Are you hungry?" he breathed softly. Roger nodded his little head. "Come; I'll make you breakfast." William whispered as he tried to sit up. Roger immediately left the bed and went around to the other side. He picked up William's crutches and his set of leg braces, kneeling beside the bed as William swung his weak legs over. Roger helped put on the braces and handed him his crutches. William winced as he got out of bed and put pressure on his brittle bones. Roger steadied him. After a few seconds of adjustment to pain of being diseased with rickets, William gave a nod. He very carefully took a step forward. Roger walked slowly beside him, guiding his crutches and braced legs. He would always catch William if he fell. They made their way into the kitchen where William leaned the crutches against the wall and just used the counters as support. Roger sat close by at one of the counters, carefully watching his older brother in case he started collapsing.

William combined some milk, butter, and eggs in a bowl and filled a frying pan with the mixture. He turned the stove on. The scrambled eggs began to fry, making the house smell wonderful. Roger inhaled and smiled. "Is there-"

"Yes, there's enough for you, me, and Father." William answered knowingly. Roger grinned again. The older boy stood at the stove, carefully mixing the contents of the pan so it wouldn't burn. When the food was ready, William portioned some out onto a plate and set it before his hungry brother. "Let me get you some juice," he said softly. Roger took a mouthful of the scrambled eggs and watched his brother closely. William took out a glass. He mentally prepared for lifting the container of juice. He used two hands like a child, carefully tilting the top of the carton. Some juice poured into the glass, but William was already straining. He gritted his teeth as the glass slowly filled. Suddenly, his muscles gave out. The whole carton of juice dropped to the floor, spilling everywhere. Roger jumped up from the table as William's knees gave out as well. He caught him and eased him onto the floor to rest. Immediately, Roger began cleaning up the sticky mess. Footsteps came into earshot. Both boys looked at each other, panicked. "I did it," Roger whispered quickly. "I dropped the carton." William tried to shake his head in protest but it was too late. Their father was already in the kitchen.

Roger picked up the empty juice container. "I'm sorry, Father. I-I thought I could reach the counter and the glass. The…the carton was fuller than I thought and the glass overflowed and tipped over and I got scared so I moved away too fast and spilled it everywhere and then William slipped and I couldn't catch him so I made the mess and I caused all of this." he shot out quickly, trying to get everything out as fast as he could before the blows came. Their father stepped over the mess and picked William up carefully. William nervously watched the whole time. "I'm sorry, Father…" Roger said meekly. Father looked down and struck Roger across the face. "You don't even talk sense." he grumbled. The smaller boy stayed where he was after the blow, feeling the sting on his cheek. William bit his lip. He desperately wanted to change the subject to protect his brother from getting hit again. "Here's some breakfast for you, Father." he said shakily. He filled a plate with scrambled eggs carefully. He put the plate on the table. Father looked particularly awful that morning; he'd gone on a terrible binge the previous night and was still hung over from the tremendous amounts of alcohol he ingested. William went to Roger and helped him stand up. He hugged his younger brother and whispered, "Thank you," almost inaudibly. Roger patted his weak shoulder and fetched William's crutches. He took his glass of juice back to the table.

Father finished his food rather quickly, and wordlessly went back upstairs to bed. When the two boys were alone, William reached across the table and gingerly took his little brother's hand. Roger stopped eating. He returned the gesture equally as gently. William sighed. "I'm scared," he confessed. Roger didn't say anything-it was very unlike William to just outright say when he was frightened. "I'm so scared of Father," he continued. "I feel myself get so shaky and lightheaded whenever he comes into the room. And not just because I'm afraid he's going to hit me, but mostly because I'm afraid he's going to hit you." Roger squeezed William's fingers gently. "No, don't be scared of that." he assured. "I can take it. I'd rather be beaten than see you be beaten."

"But I'm your big brother; I'm supposed to protect you from everything. I'm supposed to be bigger, stronger, and more…more…tough. Yet I can't be that for you."

"You can't help it. It's the rickets. It doesn't let you be strong. I want to promise you something, alright? I promise that someday, I'm going to be old enough to move away into my own home far from here. And I'm going to take you with me. Father won't be allowed anywhere near us at all-no, he won't even find us! I'll take care of you in our little house, and you'll be better in just a few months instead of years, alright? I promise you that."

William had tears in his eyes. "What will our house look like?" he asked softly, smiling as they imagined it together. "Oh, it's going to be grand! It'll be a little house that's white and has brown shutters. And it'll be in the country so no one will find us! We'll have a garden that you can take care of, and I'll raise some chickens too!" Roger explained excitedly. William laughed. They both looked at each other and fell silent. "Oh, Roger." William sighed. "I should be promising _you_ all those things."

"It's alright, it's alright. Shhhh…don't think like that. We're promising _each other_, how about that? Does that sound better?" Roger replied.

William nodded. Roger squeezed his brother's ever-shaking hand. "I love you," he whispered. "I love you too, Roger." William softly replied.

Roger knew his brother would be there for him through everything. They mostly relied on each other since their father was so incapable of caring for two young children, one being disabled. William tried not to let his disability get in his way though. Whenever Roger had a choir concert, William would find a way to get there. He would either catch a bus or sometimes even hobble on his braced legs and crutches beneath his arms all the way from their house to the school, just so that his little brother would have someone to watch him perform. They'd get home and climb into bed together. Roger would gently rub the big, sore bruises on William's sides and legs from the crutches and the uncomfortable metal braces that constantly caused friction on the frail boy's body. Roger always positioned them so that William was sleeping on the inside of the bed between his younger brother and the wall so that he wouldn't fall and hurt himself. They took such good care of each other and shared a brotherly bond that consisted of love to no end. William never missed an evening, no matter how exhausted his frail body was, to say, "And a kiss for the night," as he kissed his brother's cheek before he fell asleep.

William's funeral was short, but very emotional. Roger stood by his father, facing the ground, barely listening to what the preacher was saying about his late brother. He was instead listening to the voice in his head that was screaming at him. William had died because their father was very drunk one night and delivered a stunning blow right to William's frail chest. The boy fainted. Roger lost it on his father, screaming at him that he was nothing but a fat pig, that he couldn't get his life in order to take care of his two children, and that they feared him _endlessly_. Oh, the beating he'd received. He lost three baby teeth that weren't even loose yet all at once due to the hits in the mouth. His ear bled, he lost clumps of hair, his whole body felt broken. But that was nothing compared to the pain he felt when William finally awoke and couldn't breathe. He carried his weak brother up to bed. William was coughing and sputtering blood, trying to talk but failing miserably. Roger undressed him to look at the wounds. Father had broken William's ribs-shattered them; the fragments of bone were piercing his lungs. Roger stayed by his brother's side for days, never leaving. Until both of them realized that it was William's time.

William opened his eyes from his little nap and put a hand on Roger's shoulder weakly. Roger stirred a bit-he was also sleeping-and sat up to see what was wrong. William looked panicked. "R-Roge…" he wheezed. "Roge…it's time…God…wants me…" Roger instantly woke and grabbed his brother's constantly shaking hands. "No, William. No, no, no! No, don't go! Please, William, stay with me! Oh please! Please hold on! I-I'm going to call an ambulance! They'll take you to the hospital and get you fixed up! Oh, William! Don't go! Don't go!" Roger burst into tears. "I'm sorry! I should've stopped him! I could've…I could've saved you! If only I used my brain! I would've jumped in front of you before he could hit you! Then you'd…you'd…" William turned his head and touched Roger's face. "Please…don't say that, R-Roge…you couldn't have…stopped that beast. It's not…your fault at all…" he whimpered out. Roger just kept shaking his head.

William beckoned for Roger to come closer to him. He sat up a bit and kissed his right cheek. "A kiss for…the morning," he said, as he did whenever they woke up. He kissed his left cheek. "And…a kiss for the night," he coughed immediately after repeating their nighttime routine. "Always…" he breathed. Roger felt tears gush down his cheeks. "Please don't go…" he whispered tearfully. William closed his eyes.

The choirboys had all attended the funeral too to make Roger feel better. None of them knew William, or that Roger even had a brother at all, but they gave him a big hug afterward. Roger didn't tell anyone about the real reason why William died, except for Simon, who always extended a kind ear to listen to him. Once everyone left, Roger remained at the tombstone. "I'm…" he began slowly, trying not to burst into any more hysterical tears again. "I'm…going to kill that pig. I swear…I'm going to take away from him what he…took away from me. My…_life_. He's nothing but a beast-a pig. I'll…" but that was all he could get out before sobs choked him. He stood up and hugged himself, then turned from the grave and began walking away, totally alone. The voice inside of him kept screaming, _Kill the pig! Kill the beast!_

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**Roger's very sad. :( Hopefully this kinda gave a little background to Roger's insanity and passion to kill. In the book, it said that he watched everything and everyone-he watched the water, he watched Henry, he watched Jack, he watched Samneric, etc. I wanted him to have a reason to. He watched everyone because it was his job to always watch William to make sure he didn't fall or get hurt or anything. His father obviously reminded him of a beast, and if the beast on the island was fear, he feared his father, so his father was Roger's own personal beast. I hope my explanation didn't give too much away. I hope you liked it! Thank you for giving it a read.**


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